A Simple Kindness
by LadyMBlakeney
Summary: Tired of waiting for her Angel to finish his latest composition, Christine decides to go in search of him. Leroux-inspired (My very first fanfic, so any feedback is particularly welcome.)
1. Chapter 1

She had never attempted to go through the cellars on her own before. Christine stared at the void behind her open mirror, pulling her cloak tight against the chill air that seeped from the darkness. Securing her basket under her arm, she picked up her lantern and passed through the secret door, pausing only a moment as she heard it latch closed behind her.

Erik had not made an appearance in nearly two weeks. He had left a note saying he was composing and would seek her in time, but Christine had become impatient. She had practiced every day at the appointed hour, in case he had decided to come to her lesson, but her mirror greeted her with dull silence. After a week of this, she had begun searching for a way to open the mirror. Three days later, her finger had caught on a the little head of a nail; she heard a click followed by a mechanical whirring, and the mirror swung open. She'd solved one mystery, at least.

She considered her newfound knowledge for two more days. If he was composing, would he be angry if she disturbed him? Could she even find her way? She had been through the cellars several times, but always with Erik. The route was long, she thought, but it certainly wasn't difficult. And he had said he neither ate nor slept for days at a time when composing. She frowned at that. If he starved himself, it would be another week before he had the strength to come back up, assuming he was finished with his work for now. That settled the matter. That evening, she packed a basket with bread, cheese, a bottle of wine, and some eclairs from her favorite patisserie, and opened the mirror. If her Angel wasn't going to take care of himself, she would have to do so. She could show him that simple kindness, at least.

She walked in silence for a while, until she could hear the babble of the little fountain set into the stone. Encouraged that she was on the correct path, she began humming to herself, increasing her speed as she did so. The cold and damp grew as she descended. She longed for the warmth gleaming from the distant furnaces. How silly that she had one been afraid of them! Perhaps Erik would take her if she said she was curious to see them. She stopped short, remembering what had happened the last time she'd been curious with Erik. The echo of her footsteps rang out in the sudden silence. On second thought, perhaps she would go alone some time.

Christine walked faster as she descended. She would surprise him for once. He would be so proud of her for finding her way to him through the dark! Her excitement and happiness grew, until she was practically skipping down the steps. She was certain she was almost there. Finally, Christine could see the bottom of the staircase ahead of her. Grinning in triumph, she rushed down the last few stairs.

Her joy was quickly replaced by confusion. A step that was supposed to be there suddenly wasn't, and she was falling. Stone floor rushed up to meet her, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs. She registered the distant shattering of glass. Sudden sharp stinging in her hands and knees brought tears to her eyes, making her instantly feel like she was a very small child again. She caught her breath and righted herself. The basket was still with her, and she reached in to check the bottle. It felt whole. Hadn't she heard glass breaking? Horror blossomed within her when she realized she had dropped the lantern in her fall. She was alone in the dark under the Paris Opera House. No one knew where she was or how to find her. The only person who could had no idea she was coming. Perhaps she could go back up the stairs? She moved toward the place they should be, but found only a wall. Beginning to panic, she crawled around looking for the steps, only to come to the dawning realization that without them, she did not know how to go back or where to move forward. She was lost. Feeling very sorry for herself, and overflowing with disappointment, frustration, and fear, Christine sat on the cold floor, pulled her bruised knees to her chest, and began to cry.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for the feedback so far! -LMB

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After venting her frustration in tears for a little while, Christine began to think. Maybe if she screamed, Erik would find her. She doubted it, though. If he was buried in his music at the house, and she hadn't even reached the lake, He couldn't possibly hear her. Even if he could, she supposed he would be less than pleased at having to come rescue her simply because she tripped. Besides, despite her scraped hands and bruised knees, she wasn't a child. She would figure something out. Or she would be trapped down here.

She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. Now was not the time for panic, but a clear head. "You're in the world of the trapdoor-lover now, Christine. You need to act like it," she chastised herself. Somehow, hearing a voice in the silence was comforting, even if it was her own. It was reasonable to assume the stairs were hidden, perhaps by another door that closed after her fall. She knew she was in a long corridor and could walk in a straight line either to her right or left. She knew that Erik tuned right at the foot of the stairs. She just didn't know where the stairs were. _Well, Christine, you've got to pick one way or the other._ She stood, careful to keep her back against the wall. If she kept a hand against the wall, she should be able to find her way back, even in in the dark. _Unless there are other doors to close behind you_. Christine shook her head, attempting to banish the little voice of fear that kept trying to worm its way into her mind. She was certain Erik turned right. She tucked her basket under her arm, put her right hand against the wall, and started walking.

In the absence of light, Christine began to daydream. She recalled a story her father had told her long ago in Sweden, before the traveling. _Before Mama died_.

" _Every winter, älskling, a hero journeys deep into the labyrinth of Winter because he has heard about a glorious maiden who sleeps at the heart of the labyrinth. He struggles through snow and ice. He fights risi and trolls. When the hero finally comes through his trials and reaches the center chamber, he sees a woman asleep. Her hair is spun gold. Her skin glows like the embers of a coal fire. She is clothed in linen so white it nearly blinds him to look at. Trembling in fear (for he now knows she is a goddess and not a mortal woman) he wakes her by ringing a silver bell at the foot of her bed. The woman awakens, and smiles at him. She gifts him with precious gems and golden cloth. Still smiling, the Sun Maiden climbs from her bed and into the sky, bringing with her the Spring."_

Stumbling along in the dark, Christine did not feel much like a hero, but the thought of Erik as a golden Sun Maiden made her giggle.

Erik simmered with irritation. Twice now, his alarms had gone off, interrupting his train of thought. In an attempt to preserve his concentration, he had ignored the first; it wasn't the alarm for the lake, and the boat was on his side anyway. Even the Daroga, irritating as the man was, wouldn't be so foolish as to attempt to swim across. The second alarm came about twenty minutes later. Someone was moving through the tunnels. Erik put his hands to his ears to block out the distraction. Some stagehand had wandered too far and was lost. It happened occasionally. When possible, he drugged them and returned them to the upper cellars, leaving them to wake with questions, confusion, and fodder for the ballet rats' rumors of a ghost. He couldn't leave his music; the longer he wrote, the longer he was away from Christine. His loss of time with her was gained by that _boy_.

He had been down here for nearly two weeks. Two weeks kept away from her golden hair and sea-blue eyes. Two weeks from the hidden darkness and crystalline purity of her angelic voice. Two weeks from her gentle company. The alarm rang out a third time. Snarling in fury, Erik grabbed his hat and cloak and stormed from the house. Someone would pay dearly for their intrusion.

She had been walking for too long, she was sure of it. She should be at the lake by now…. shouldn't she? The darkness around her seemed to distort everything: time, touch, sound. Her feet were tired, and the pain in her knees and hands had settled into a dull, steady throb. For the past few minutes, she had heard what sounded like whispers ahead of her growing steadily louder as she moved forward. She strained to make out the voices only to realize it was not the sound of voices at all. It was water! The whisper grew to a roar as she went on, spurred by curiosity. The lake could never sound like this, with its calm lapping and mirrored surface. What lay ahead of her was something entirely different. The stone grew slippery underfoot, and she was glad to have the wall beside her. Finally, she felt the the wall come to an end. Stepping through the doorway, she was enveloped in cacophony.

 _There must be a waterfall_. It thundered all around her in the blackness, and she could feel the rush of the damp, cool air against her cheek. It smelled fresher and clearer than the corridor. She was certainly not at the lake; she only wished she could see where she was. Papa had taken her to see a waterfall once. She remembered how the water thundered off the stone as mist hung in the air. She had loved the pillowy-soft moss and frothy ferns that grew along the banks nearby. She doubted anything like that could grow this far underground. As they had eaten lunch nearby, he had told her his favorite stories of the Fossegrim and the nøkk. He particularly love the Fossegrim, who lived at waterfalls and would teach those brave enough to seek him how to play violin, as long as they paid him with a good meal. Christine always asked her father if that's how he had learned to play, but he would never answer. He would just tap the side of his nose and wink at her until she laughed.

The nøkk was different, and had scared her. He used his music to lure people into streams or lakes or onto thin ice until they were too far from the shore. Then he would drag the unlucky traveler below the surface to his hidden lair.

Christine suddenly felt warm, despite the chill. The fear that she had suppressed was blossoming in her chest. What if she truly _was_ lost down here? What if she never found the lake, or Erik? Would everyone think she had run away when she had never left the Opera House, and maybe never would again? Would something drag her down into the water in this neverending blackness?

He had found the broken lantern at the foot of the closed staircase. Whomever had intruded upon his solitude had taken a spill, then. Shame that one step was always so tricky. He smirked. They couldn't have gotten too far without light. Keeping his own lantern shaded, he pulled the Punjab lasso from his pocket and moved swiftly and silently toward the rainwater cistern at the end of the corridor.

He hadn't walked for too long before he found the trespasser. He was surprised to see it wasn't the shape of a stagehand in front of him, but what appeared to be a young woman in a cloak. Had some spectacular dunce of a ballerina descended into the cellars for a dare, only to find herself alone without light or hope? He sighed, and slipped his lasso back into his pocket. She was a splendid idiot, but he was somewhat impressed with her bravery; as far as he knew, none of the ballet girls had ever made it past the fourth cellar before they ran back to the light, scared of their own imaginations and the occasional whisper in their ear. A devilish smile spread across his ghoulish face. She was bold without doubt, but it was time to see how far that bravery would go.

A little scare wouldn't hurt her. She was too near the water's edge, though, he would have to bring her closer to him. The Siren was alway good at compelling people on the lake; he supposed it would work here just as well. He curled his voice around the edge of her hood and began to sing.

The girl spun round in shock, and to his horror took a step backwards in her fear. He caught a fleeting glimpse of golden hair and wide, sea-blue eyes before she vanished in the swirling icy darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

I'm kind of on a roll today, writing-wise, so I hope you enjoy this extra little chapter!

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The shock of ice cold water knocked the scant breath from Christine's lungs. The roar of the waterfall muffled as she plunged beneath the surface. Christine had been a strong swimmer since she was young, but the pull of the undercurrent and the weight of her clothes was dragging her further under. She dropped the basket and kicked off her shoes. _I can't die here!_ The thought spurred her into action, and she fought to keep from sinking further. She kicked hard as she released the clasp of her cloak. She was being pulled back further from the edge she had been standing so dangerously close to. Her lungs started to burn as she struggled to break the surface. Bright flashes of color danced across the insides of her eyelids. One final kick and the waterfall's thunder was back full force, and she could feel the cool air on her face.

She gasped for breath, her chest aching as it expanded in the freezing vice of the subterranean reservoir. Determined to keep her head above water, she swam against the current, reaching for the stone ledge. The cold was quickly sapping her strength, but she continued, refusing to give in to the weariness that seeped into her very core. Then, out of the darkness, two hands grabbed her arms, pulling her from the water and onto solid ground.

As she lay on the stone, Christine thought she saw not one golden sun hovering over her, but two. She laughed aloud and knew no more.

Erik froze in horror as Christine disappeared into the depths of the cistern. The current would drag her down in an instant. If he couldn't find her soon, he would never see his Angel alive again. She would be gone, and he had only himself to blame. He did not know what had drawn her down below the Opera, but he had preyed on her fear and driven her to what may well be her death. Unless he could reach her. He rushed to the edge, stripping off his cloak, hat, and suit coat as he went. As he prepared to dive in after her, he heard the most beautiful sound he could imagine: Christine had pushed herself to the surface, and was taking in taking in great gasps of air. She was alive! Not only alive, but fighting for life. His Christine, despite the cold, the dark, and the weight of her skirts, was swimming like an undaunted but exhausted selkie. He braced himself to keep from falling in after her, stretched out and grabbed her slender arms, hauling her up beside him. He leaned over her to reassure himself she was alive. Inexplicably, she giggled, then fainted dead away.

Christine was colder to the touch than even himself. She wasn't clear of danger yet. He had to get her warm, and quickly. He wrapped his discarded coat and cloak around her, lifted her in his arms, and ran as fast as he could to the lake and the little boat.

Her first sensation was sumptuous, luxurious warmth soaking into every inch of her tired, aching body. The second was a comforting weight pressing her into what felt like a cloud of pillows. The third, was the distant sound of a violin, lulling her back into the oblivion of sleep.

Some time later, Christine awoke in some confusion. The last thing she recalled was unrelenting cold and darkness. Now she was stretched out on rich, silk cushions in front of the remains of a warm fire, the embers crackling and glowing copper on the hearth. Draped over her were quilts, blankets, and a delightfully plump feather duvet. Someone sat reading in an armchair at the foot of her makeshift bed. Her heart sank a little as a pair of stern golden eyes met her own.

"Ah Christine," Erik's dangerously soft voice curled around her as he closed his book, "I believe you and I need to have a little talk."


	4. Chapter 4

Close to the end now! I think one more chapter, maybe two, but we'll see...

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Christine heard the warning in his voice. She was not sure why, but she could tell she needed to be very careful. While he would certainly believe that she had been bored and curious, Erik might find it a stretch that she had—on a whim— packed a basket for a subterranean picnic and attempted to find his home without either guidance or invitation. She would have to convince him. However, it was not a conversation she intended to have while lying on her back like an invalid.

As Christine sat up, she noticed she was wearing an ornate dressing gown of wine-colored brocade. She quickly realized whose it must be, as the cuffs of quilted velvet slipped far past the ends of her fingertips. She blushed slightly at the unexpected intimacy, only to deepen in color as she became conscious of the fact that beneath the robe, she was clad only in her chemise.

"Your clothes are drying in the other room," Erik said gently, as if to ease her embarrassment. "The dress is ruined, but I have procured another from your dressing room." He paused. "You were freezing, and could have become extremely ill. I assure you I did only what was necessary."

Christine nodded her understanding. "Thank you." She was exceedingly aware that Erik was also uncommonly informal in his attire. His usual elegant suit coat had been abandoned in favor of his waistcoat, his shirtsleeves neatly rolled halfway up his forearms. Uncertain of how to proceed, she busied herself with pushing the sleeves of the robe up to her wrists. Her hands had been bandaged, and she noticed they no longer ached.

"They don't hurt anymore." She looked at the tidy linen strips wound securely around her wrists and palms, then to Erik questioningly. "Did you put something on them to stop it?"

"Eventually." She could hear, rather than see the wry smile behind the black cloth mask. "After I cleaned the wounds and disinfected them. It was perhaps fortunate you were unconscious for some time."

"Oh. Well… thank you for that, too." Christine looked to her hands, at the fire, the pattern on the sleeve of the dressing gown—anywhere to avoid meeting his unwavering gaze again. The silence settle heavily in the room, pressing her to answer a question he hadn't asked. "I… I fell. On the stairs. The lantern broke, and I—"

He jumped from the chair, startling her into silence, and began pacing back and forth on the rich Persian carpet,effectively trapping her between the fire and his growing impatience and irritation.

She rose to her feet, wincing as she was painfully reminded that while her hands might have been tended to, her knees were still bruised and tender. "It was an accident, Erik. I was going too fast and tripped. I thought I could still find my way, but I must have gotten turned around in the dark, and I—"

" _IT WAS NO ACCIDENT, YOU FOOLISH GIRL!_ " He rounded suddenly, stalking toward her like a panther. "What were you even doing in the Opera cellars, Christine? Do you have any idea what might have happened?"

"What do you mean?" Her eyes widened in shock, and she stepped backward as he continued to advance until she felt the mantelpiece behind her. "What do you mean it wasn't an accident?"

"My dear," his voice was velvet with an edge of steel, "you know what sort of man your Erik is." He towered over Christine, placing his hands on the mantle on either side of her. "Do you think I would allow anyone to just wander around down here without my knowledge? You tripped on the stairs because I taught them to trip unwelcome visitors. You got turned around because the walls close when I tell them to. What happened to you was not an accident because it was _by design_." Her breath caught in her chest as he bent down to look her directly in the eye. "But you have not answered me, Christine," he breathed. "What. Were. You. Doing?"

A tiny, white hot flame had begun to flicker in her and steadily grew as he spoke. It all was his fault. She hadn't been confused or lost. She would have made it to the lake had it not been for his traps. " _By design_? My evening spent blind and sore and frightened and frozen was _by design_? I came down here for _you_." For the first time, she sensed uncertainty break through his anger, and she pressed it. "It has been nearly two weeks. I was worried!"

"I told you I was composing!"

"You also told me you don't eat!" Now it was his turn to retreat as she stepped toward him, her fury and frustration and . "I spent days figuring out how the mirror worked. I packed us a basket of food. I thought you would be so proud that I had remembered the way to your home!" She laughed bitterly. "Instead I end up bruised and bloody, _by design_. I knew the corridor was straight, I simply went the wrong direction and found the waterfall. I was about to turn around and try the other way when I heard—" She stopped short at the realization. Erik took advantage of her pause to resume his place in the armchair, crossing his legs and picking some invisible lint off his cuff. Her eyes narrowed, "It was _you_? I was half convinced I'd conjured up a nøkk, and it was you? _That's_ why you were there to pull me out of the water, isn't it? You tried to frighten me!"

Erik sighed, his anger replaced with a sad weariness. "I did not try to frighten _you_ , Christine. I did not for one second dream you would be down here. I thought you were one of the ballet girls."

"So you would try to drown a ballet girl just because she was down here?" She could feel her anger following after his, and did not want to let it go.

He pinched the ridge of bone between his eyes. "NO, Christine. I only intended to scare a little, to add to the rumors of the ghost, then take the girl I believed to be a dance back upstairs unharmed. I did not know just how close you were to the edge, nor did I expect such a reaction to my voice." He continued, and she could hear the self-satisfied smirk in his voice, "Usually, I have found it to have quite a different effect."

He reached out and took one of her bandaged hands. "My poor Christine. You only thought to be kind to your undeserving Erik. Your pity is wasted on him."

"Apparently, so are my eclairs," she said wryly. She started to kneel by the chair, then remembered her knees and grabbed a cushion to sit on instead, leaning her head against his knee. "Erik, I didn't come because I pitied you, I came because I was lonely…" she paused, then decided she'd already been too brave tonight to be a coward now. "I missed you."

"Did you indeed, my dear?" She felt his hand smooth her hair, lulling her back into peaceful calm. "You have had a trying night in recompense for your thoughtfulness. Rest a while, and Erik will see what he can do to rectify the unfortunate situation regarding your pastries." She smiled at that, and soothed by the warmth of the fire and the tough of his hand stroking her hair, she soon drifted off to sleep.


End file.
